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I hate to say this because I really love my husband. He’s a terrific guy—brilliant, beautiful, loving, thoughtful and generous. Our life together has been wonderful, but the truth is I was getting bored. He’s a scientist. That means everything about his life is planned and executed with precision, even our sex life. I’m not complaining. There’s a lot to be said for precision in bed. He knows just what to do, how and when it should be done, but that was becoming a problem for me. He always did the same thing. I always knew what was coming next. There were no surprises in bed. I really felt the need to see what would happen if I shook things up a little, broke his concentration and loosed whatever was scratching just below the surface of his controlled focus. That’s when I got the idea. He had been on a business trip, running tests in a laboratory overseas for twelve days and I was more than a little restless. Yes, I missed the conversation, the companionship, but I also hadn’t been touched in two weeks. I know, that doesn’t really seem like a long time, but like I said, there’s a lot to be said for precision. I really needed to see him, and I wanted him to be just as anxious to see me. We normally emailed each other a few times a day when one of us was out of town. I started sending him pretty suggestive notes—one per day for a week. Each one was more risqué than the one before it. I opened up and revealed my most private fantasies, and described how I touch myself when I think of those images. He always wrote back, but he never acknowledged the content of my messages, though I didn’t think he would take that chance on a company computer. On the last day, I really went out on a limb and attached a photo of me naked, stretched across the hood of his gold jag, with a note that read, “Wish you were here.”
I didn’t have to wait long. Exactly forty-five minutes after his plane was scheduled to land, two bright beams glared as a car slowly turned into our driveway. I could make out Patrick’s shadow as he climbed out, grabbed his garment bag and headed toward the front door. I waited by the window, letting the blanket I had draped over my shoulders, slip to the floor, revealing the black lace beneath. I could see the bulge in the front of his pants the second he walked through the door. I guess we were thinking the same thing. He dropped his bag and shut the door behind him, absently pushing his hair away from his eyes. I stepped forward, wrapping my arms around his neck in a welcoming hug. His left arm encircled my waist firmly. With his right hand, he reached up and cupped my breast, stroking the nipple until it tightened. He stepped back, removing his coat, and dropping it on the floor. I ran my hand over the muscular lines of his shoulders. When we kissed, I could feel the heat swirling just beneath the cool surface of his skin. He pushed his erection into me, again reaching for my breast. His tongue probed my mouth brazenly for a long, delicious moment. Afterward, he looked at me and finally spoke, “I want some pussy.” He had never used language like that before. Before then everything was euphemism and scientific, planned and exact. That was just nasty, and I was instantly aroused by it. He kissed me again, his hand sliding under the thin chemise. I let my hand follow the familiar course into his pants. My fingers found his cock and I grasped it firmly, stroking the thick shaft and running my thumb back and forth over its swollen head. He leaned into me and moaned against my lips. “I need to fuck you,” he hissed into my mouth. He walked me backward toward the bedroom, still kissing me deeply, hands roaming freely over my body.
He slid his hands up and down my back before pulling the gown over my head. His eyes swept down to my breasts and lingered where my steadily firming nipples strained against my bra. Then he bent and took my tits (first one, then the other) into his mouth, sucking and licking through the thin layer of lace. I reached down, tangling my fingers in his hair. He sucked harder, sending tremors up and down my spine. He held me up with one hand while the other slid into my panties, stroking lightly, gently, with just one finger until my hips began to grind against him. “You’re so wet,” he whispered. “Did you miss me, baby? Did you miss my cock inside you?” His hand stopped when the first moan reached my lips, and he slowly peeled my panties down my legs. As he stood, he ran his hand between my thighs for one last stroke before tracing his fingers back up to my breasts. He reached behind me and unhooked my bra. Once I was naked, he stepped back and looked me up and down. His breaths were fast and deep, like he was taking in my scent. “I’ve missed this so much,” he whispered, pulling me in for another kiss. The heels of his palms slid smoothly down my back. He sat me down on the side of the bed and fell to his knees in front of me. I opened wide for him, and he stared at my waiting cunt while he hurried out of his clothes. I think I moaned even before his tongue reached me. He slid his hand beneath my ass and squeezed, pulling me forward while he buried his face between my thighs. I gave in to the feeling, pumping my hips up and down while his tongue worked, lapping and lashing at my clit. My body erupted in a spastic orgasm that left me writhing and twitching. When I came, he moaned with me, refusing to let up, driving the sensation higher until I fell back onto the bed unable to hold back the scream. “Oh, God. I love this pussy,” he said as he stood up, taking advantage of the
hypersensitivity, and using a finger to coax out another scream. His face was covered in the proof of his handy work. When he pushed his cock into me, I think we both screamed. I felt him tense and begin to pull away, and I wrapped my legs tightly around his waist to hold him inside me, looking at him questioningly. “I think I’ve gotten a little ahead of myself,” he explained straining to hold back the rotation that had started in his hips. “I think you’re right on schedule,” I said, letting my hips move with as much freedom as his body would allow. He sighed in surrender when I began licking my orgasm from his skin, sliding my tongue across his lips while he rode me. As the thrusts quickened, he moaned and swore, reveling in his own pleasure. His usual script and procedure were abandoned. He was running on autopilot for the first time in our relationship, and it was amazing. I wrapped my legs tighter around him, raising my hips off the bed to pull him in deeper. He fucked me harder and faster and his moans grew louder drowning out my own. We moved together, pushing ourselves farther than either of us had ever gone before. He stared into my eyes praising the look and feel of my body over and over. Sweat poured out of us, mixing together, and making our bodies slick, but we clung to each other, not wanting it to end. I watched his orgasm spread across his face, clouding his eyes, rushing blood throughout his body. His back stiffened and arched as he gripped my breasts tightly with both hands, threw his head back and screamed. For a while, we just lay where our bodies landed, and slept covered in sweat. I awoke to the feeling of being airborne and realized I was being carried. I opened my eyes and asked my husband where we were going. He flashed a small, crooked smile and replied, “I believe you invited me out to the car.”